Posted by Elliot Steingart
My girlfriend, who I met at work, left after a year and a half to start a new job. It will be hard to find another girlfriend in the office. I have me eyes set on Michele who oversees payroll. I'm running low on sick days and want to expense an online subscription to the New York Times.
I will miss visiting my girlfriend's cubicle and handing her pretzels and making funny faces, like the time I pantomimed a blowjob when she was on the phone with a client.
When off the phone, my girlfriend would pop her head out of her cube like the groundhog from Caddyshack when she suspected I was flirting with another co-worker. Yes, I make small talk, but despite some friendly banter, I never once flirted with Scott.
She was a big help in the mornings toasting my English Muffins. It's like she always knew whose Jelly she could use without the person knowing.
My girlfriend now works at a private Catholic School. Instead of gossiping on Gchat with Alison, she is now hiding the fact that she is dating a Jew from Sister Barbara.
She is learning the school's code of conduct which she signed to accept the position. I'm hoping this code of conduct will apply to our relationship. She broke the code when she extended her leg and kicked me square in the balls.
She kicked me in the balls because I accidentally scratched her when I pretended to punch her in the stomach. She doesn't like when I act like her brother and try to play rough. I learned the hard way.
I yelled, cussed, and screamed. I am used to my balls being busted, just not kicked. It was so shocking I wondered what other women would inflict such pain to their loved ones.
I can't imagine my mom slipping on her Tom's to kick my dad in the nuts.
My girlfriend felt so ashamed she cleaned my apartment, cooked me dinner, bought me beer. I hope she kicks me in the balls next month.
When I came home from the Clipper game my girlfriend wanted to fool around. I had just eaten a Skyscraper dog. “I'm sorry,” I told her. "I've got nothing left in the tank."
I felt like I played 48 minutes against the Timberwolves. I needed a hot towel over my head. She didn't understand. “Come on.”
“You don't understand. The Skyscraper makes the Dodger Dog look like a pig in a blanket.”
I learned my lesson after getting cockblocked by a hot dog. This thanksgiving I'm only eating cranberry sauce.
11.25.13 at 8:30 am | Learning code of conduct
10.28.13 at 9:09 am | Parents Meeting Girlfriend's Parents,and more
8.2.13 at 9:12 am | Guest blog written by my dad
7.24.13 at 9:38 am | Going home
6.25.13 at 9:36 am | The longest day of the year
5.24.13 at 11:43 am | Taking the Socks off
October 28, 2013 | 9:09 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
Rather than blog writing, I have focused more on blogging verbally. I made an effective speech at work about how business partners aren't our friends, unless they make us lots and lots of money. I even participated in a conversation where all I did was listen. That was interesting but a little boring.
My blogging hiatus felt like the necessary move to become less cerebral and more present. I share these experiences with you because they happened when I was alive before the guilt set in that I should blog to appease my girlfriend and my friend, Todd.
My parents met my girlfriend's parents. We first went to an art opening. We saw a live bat in a cage. Did you know that millions of bats live among us? My mom was a little spooked by the bat. I don't know if my dad noticed the bat as he was busy noticing the wine. At dinner my dad mentioned he used to drink grain alcohol in college. He also called a Keurig coffee machine a Hammeker Shlemmer. My girlfriend's parents now understand why I am the way I am.
I texted my girlfriend's dad for his birthday asking if he is going to the club. He said he was going out for martinis and cigars. I called him a "baller." He was so baller he didn't even respond.
I attended a wedding where I befriended my girlfriend's friend, Maddie's boyfriend, Juan. He and another new friend Brad and I spent time drinking beers together and making jokes at each other's expense. Brad mentioned he wanted to visit Juan at Chipotle, where he works. He said, "Yes come. Just ask for Juan." I imagine when he asks for Juan at Chipotle, the response will be "Which Juan?"
My mom discovered Buzzfeed. She sent me an article on the top reasons why Pittsburgh is a great city. I can always rely on her to send me relevant internet content from three weeks before. She also bought Warby Parker eye glasses. Between the Buzzfeed article and Warby Parkers my mom is a Gchat complaint about her job away from becoming a millennial.
My girlfriend and I spent a weekend in the mountains with my friend Aviv and his fiancee, Moria. We had a snowball fight, and I peed in a lake. After dinner we played a heated game of Monopoly together. Negotiating the sale of Park Place to Aviv in exchange for free rent for two turns, Moria turned irate yelling at Aviv in Hebrew. "Don't do it! No. No. Don't do it!" I understand why Israelis can't negotiate peace. To top that off my girlfriend was upset that I kept complimenting Moria's cooking. She made good eggs and I enjoyed her salad. I wanted to let her know. Not like the praise helped me obtain Marvin Gardens.
As my girlfriend spends more time at my place, I'm getting more used to having her things around the house. She, like most Mac users, thinks she can put her Mac Book Pro anywhere. I can't even touch her Mac without asking permission. "Be really careful, okay?" "I don't want to use it. I want to move it off the ottoman." I'm tired of the product placement in my house. It's like I'm in an episode of 'New Girl'.
My girlfriend bought another Kate Spade purse. She has four. The problem is she now has no money to put anything in her purse.
And that will be that.
August 2, 2013 | 9:12 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
Written by my dad, Marc Steingart
In the early 1960's clubs were a part of the social fabric of Jewish life in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh. In middle school I was in a club called the “Gayblades.” Feeling the need to branch out, I discovered the Marquis, a club that had been in existence as the "Falcons" in grade school at Minadeo. I joined the Marquis in 1962 as a freshman at Taylor Allderdice High school.
The Marquis had 26 members. We earned the reputation as the most popular club in high school. The Gayblades, Sigma Kap, Pi Tau, Fort Pitt probably thought otherwise. We were certainly the most active club. We participated in the drama festival, a Greek sing, basketball, football, and softball leagues. Almost every Saturday we brought our dates to scavenger hunts, dances, and hayrides where we would sometimes get to make out.
Through the years the Marquis have kept in touch by email preceding each of our birthdays. We have attended each others' and our kids' weddings, and Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. Over the years four of the Marquis have passed away-- Radio, Mort, Wayne, and Umbre . Fortunately, 17 of us, including our advisor, Bibsy reunited this summer to celebrate our 65th birthdays in Pittsburgh.
The Marquis are a unique group. We all had nicknames. Animal, our club president, was a porn star in the 70's under an alias. Houston is a well known political pundit and frequent contributor to MSNBC , Shemp was an entrepreneur in the health food industry. Barnie is a cantor. While many of the Marquis are doctors and lawyers, there is only one social worker (me Stromberg).
Friday night we went to the Pirate game at PNC Park. We had our own private box where we watched the first place Pirates win in extra innings. Conversations flowed easily among the guys, catching up on the lives of Hymie, Worm, Stitchway, Mule,and others I haven't seen in a while.
After the game a large group of us went to the Hampton Inn where Animal held court telling stories of his porn career. After his first porn film he didn't have a name. He turned to the director and asked what his name should be to which the director in his thick Italian accent replied, "Richard Pacheco."
Straight Arrow drove me home at 1:45 AM. I can't remember the last time I stayed up that late, or laughed so hard or felt such a bond.
The next day we met for a club meeting. In high school meetings were an integral part of the club as we met at the Jewish Community Center every week. We paid 25 cent dues at each meeting. Spud provided us with a Marquis t-shirt that we all proudly donned. We started the meeting with a moment of silence for those who died. We also agreed to send to Turtle, who has a brain tumor, a baseball, that we all signed, as well as our Marquis Angel to help with his recovery.
Many stories were shared during our meeting. Baron, the organic farmer, and biggest yet kindest and sweetest Marquis, started to cry as he talked about how meaningful it was for all of us to be together. After we all regained our composure, one of the more memorable stories that emerged was when a group of guys were at Polonsky’s Restaurant where my father also happened to be. As the guys went to present their bill, Weasel said “See that guy over there, he’s paying.”
Weasel waved to my father who recognized my friends and waved back acknowledging to the cashier’s satisfaction that my father would pay. Of course my father had no clue he was being set up! During the meeting Hymie surprised Ruby as well as all of us by returning the wooden Jack Kramer tennis racquet he won in a poker game from Ruby in High School. Although Hymie did not return the Ventures album which was also part of the bet.
After the club meeting, we continued on to our high school for a tour by the Athletic Director who was Weasel’s brother. What a trip going through the halls of the high school, seeing the new swimming pool, the grass covered athletic field that used to be dirt and oil covered, seeing the cafeteria and auditorium where our motto ”Know something, Do something, Be something” still stood proudly. Remembering home room where I would bribe Linda for being late- I charged her 10 cents not to report her tardiness; recalling turkey treat – pieces of pigeon meat [seemed that way] over a biscuit with gravy; remembering taking a short cut through the boiler room led by the janitor or otherwise you would need to go outside in order to get to the annex.
Later that night we arrived at Green Oaks Country Club for a sit-down dinner and more conversation. We Skyped Bianci, who was not able to attend due to chronic health issues, but felt part of our gathering.The highlight of this dinner, besides Goose’s generosity in providing the wine, was the appearance of Tommy, accepting his belated ”best athlete award”. Not officially a club member, Tommy was a stellar, naturally gifted guy whom we all envied for his athletic prowess and was brought in to help us win crucial games.Maybe not being Jewish had something to do with his athletic abilities. I recalled a time after we ate at Polonsky’s Restaurant Tommy took my check and money and told the cashier “This cheapskate didn’t eat”.
He just paid for his meal pocketing my money and check. When we were outside, I complimented him on the joke he played on the cashier, but the joke was on me as he kept my money.
The next morning we gathered at the Hampton Inn for a Champagne brunch generously provided by Spud and Mule. Some of the parents including, among others, my 91 year old father and step mother, and 96 year old mother of Spud joined us at the breakfast.
Without Animal, the glue that has kept this remarkable bunch of menches together through the years by way of e-mails, this reunion would not have happened. It takes an initiator to keep relationships going. When I came back from the weekend I got together with Bianci and later Sleepy. I'm glad I did. We are already planning our next reunion at Hymie's in Maine. What are the Gayblades doing?
July 24, 2013 | 9:38 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
The summer of 2013 is a collection of meaningful memories, memories of traveling to Pittsburgh, and the Black Hills of South Dakota for friends' weddings, and such.
Pittsburgh is home, and will remain home until no one volunteers to scoop me from the airport. Zach pulls up in his Honda Ridgeline, and lets me crash on his couch for five nights. He pours me coffee in the morning until I figure out how to insert a pod into his Keurig. He takes me to Gabe's house, picks me up from the country club and makes me walk his dog, Sidney, who for some reason I call Pippin.
We stop at Zach's family run can factory where he introduces me to the 38 year old Yinzer wearing a sleaveless tank performing manual labor. “This is my buddy visiting from California who grew up here.”
“Zach's my daddy,” I tell the guy.
Zach later tells Ross that his employee thinks he's a queer.
Brad, my best friend, drove up from Virginia. I was awaiting Brad's arrival so we could run five's at the JCC hoop court. I told Brad, now a doctor, that I could use an MRI for the soreness in my leg. To which he texted me, “How about a tampon?”
I don't know what kind of medicine is prescribed down in Charlottesville, but I doubt a tampon will heal a strained calf.
I spent two nights at Brad's house to upgrade from a couch to a bed. There I met the new family dog, Bandit, a German Shepherd with two different color eyes. Brad told me that Bandit knows right from wrong, but he doesn't listen. A gate was placed so Bandit couldn't get up the steps into my bedroom. Bandit managed to leap over the gate and barged through the bedroom door throughout the night. He sat and cried. I couldn't open the door because I didn't want to wake Joan and David, Brad's parents. The next morning Bandit took a shit and later peed in my bedroom. The following day Bandit ate my socks.
Before Goldstein's wedding Joan took a picture of me and Brad outside by their fishpond. Bandit was so bad he photo-bombed the picture. When it was time to leave I said goodbye to everyone except for Bandit.
Ross didn't tell his girlfriend he was going to the wedding. It didn't make sense why, he just never did. He lied and it was too deep in to tell her the truth so he made Zach defriend his girlfriend on Facebook so she wouldn't potentially see any pictures from the wedding. Zach said that once, while rummaging through Ross's sock drawer, he found a chicken wing.
Brad, Zach, Ross and I sat with Weinberg, Weiss and Gumberg at table 7. “If I wasn't sitting at my table I would want to sit at table 7,” said Goldstein.
Who knows if he said that to table 6. Goldstein, always sincere, danced with his bride, Maggie to the Lumineers song “Ho Hey” as if entering the Color War dance competition.
Before it was time to lift Goldstein in the chair, Zach and Ross started shouting “Kah-Kah! Kah-Kah!” like the mating call of a blue bird. This was our signal to lift Goldstein, and later my own personal signal to start a mosh pit to the hit track “I Don't Care I Love It.”
I saw old friends like Ad Rock, and Rudkin and met kids who favored local pizza shop Aiello's over Mineo's, representing a new generation of misguided youth.
Uncle Steve took our family to a new diner out in Robinson Township. As a chief of the health department, he is so revered that once at PF Chang's a waiter spilled water on his pants. Moments later the manager came to our table with a brand new pair of pants, tags and all. Uncle Steve is so beloved I wouldn't be surprised if waiters tip him. I sat next to my grandpa who at 91 still tries to make a buck, however he can. At the end of the table he tried to sell me disability insurance. “You never know what will happen. It's best to be safe.”
“I'll have the sirloin,” I responded.
Uncle Steve met me for breakfast on his way to Washington D.C. It was nice spending some one on one time with him. For the first time, I paid for his meal. I now only him about $4,000 worth of food.
Before I left I spent the afternoon with my grandpa. I helped him with his computer and snapped a video asking questions about his life.
“What happened in 1948?” I asked him.
“Marc was born,” he said. “I wasn't sure whether to name him Marc or Mistake.”
Not sure if I'll see my grandpa again, but if I don't that's a great way to go out. A nice memory, one I always have when I'm in Pittsburgh seeing the my same friends and family who never change in the best possible way.
June 25, 2013 | 9:36 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
I was surrounded by kids for an entire day. In a span of eight hours, I was kicked in the groin and nearly run over by a Fisher Price bicycle. All proof that the first day of summer is the longest day of the year.
These kids were more combative than a street gang out of “Warriors.” Before I could celebrate Aunt Barb and Uncle Larry's 65th birthday party, I would need to get past 6 year cousin Quaydu—who told me he was 7--lecturing 4 year old Zoe about “good behavior.” This coming from the little boy wearing a Darth Vader Helmet. While becoming acquainted with the chips and salsa I heard a loud shriek.
“Mommy! Mommy!” cried Zoe as she laid on the grass.
The slide fell. Quaydu blamed the mechanics.
“Quaydu pushed me,” blamed Zoe.
I wanted to believe Quaydu but he was the one who ran down the steps charging me with a plastic sword. When I checked in on Quaydu upstairs he and 3 year old cousin Tyler were jumping around on the couch. When I tried to apprehend Quaydu, he escaped from my arms climbed from the top rope and lunged at me like Diamond Dallas Page extending his elbow down to my nether regions. I flipped Quaydu over my head and onto the couch. Then another little boy who I didn't know jumped on my back.
“At least introduce yourself before you put me in a sleeper hold.” I yelled to him.
Tyler now joined his older cousin Quaydu on the top rope in a tag team scenario. Roughhousing Ari and Josh's boys is more acceptable than me spear chucking the child of someone of no relation. I gently shoved him off the couch.
Wiping off sweat, in rushed in Zoe. “Mommy! Mommy!”
“Yes?” asked Laurie, her mother.
“Quaydu gave me chocolate.”
Smooth move by Quaydu. That's only a move you can get away with when you are 6 (turning 7). If you are a grown man you can not rough up a lady than give her a piece of chocolate and expect things to be okay.
I was glad to hear Josh's voice summoning me from the pool up to the balcony saving me the swarm of baby boomers dancing poolside. Josh's boys Tyler and Jake were drag racing tricycles. Trying to have a conversation with my older cousin Josh put me in a game of chicken with his boys. Tyler, at 3 years old, gave me a big hug. That's all he could do after I blocked him en route to the jacuzzi. 2 year old Jake veered past me. Tyler set the pick and Jake rolled until he got stuck near the jacuzzi and I had to let him free.
“I don't want to go back to Boulder,” Tyler confessed.
The sweet hearted cyclist now posed for a picture with his young brother, Jake.
Jake doesn't quite now how to talk, but he mumbles well enough to get by. Of all his words throughout the day, the only one I could make out was “fireman.” He and Tyler are both obsessed with firemen. Aunt Barb and Uncle Larry's friend, Joe whose arm was held by a sling, is a fire chief.
“Jake. Tyler. You see, Joe?” said Abby, Josh's wife. “Joe, is a fireman.”
Jake and Tyler looked up to Fireman Joe how at the age of 14 I looked up at Chris Rock when I met him at Stand Up New York. He was a real life hero.
“Do you know where to find the hose?” asked Tyler.
“Yes, and next time you are in town I will take you on the fire truck.” said Joe.
Joe would have really proved himself a hero if he could put these kids to bed. Quaydu and Zoe wanted to watch “A Bugs Life.” Tyler claimed he wasn't tired. Jake cried. It was a group effort to convince these kids it was bed time. Ari took Quaydu and Zoe into the other room. My dad read a bedtime story to Tyler. And Abby put Jake's bed in the bathroom. Everything worked except putting Jake's bed in the bathroom. He continued to cry. I can't blame him. I would cry too if I had to sleep in the bathroom.
Once the kids were put to bed Aunt Barb opened presents. The kids tired us out until I heard that Aunt Barb and Uncle Larry received a gift card from Leslie and Shlomo! I started laughing like a child.
"I need a friend named Shlomo to buy me a gift card." I said.
I was then put in the bathroom.
May 24, 2013 | 11:43 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
I'm taking medication to cure my foot fungus. My girlfriend, sister, brother-in-law, cousin, and childhood friends have made fun of my discolored toes long enough. Soon they shall see normal adult male toe nails. In no time I'll wear sandals without shame. And my girlfriend will actually want to play footsie!
The medication I'm taking is called Terbinafine. It's a generic form of Lamisal. Thankfully my physician prescribed the medication so I didn't have to visit a podiatrist. I prevented a second grown man from touching my feet.
One of my toes is more discolored than the rest. I took a photograph a few months ago so I could track how much it will improve. I was showing my girlfriend pictures that I took recently on my phone. As I toggled through pictures of me holding my niece Dylan, shots of Los Feliz, my new couch, we found ourselves looking at a high resolution image of my yellowish toenail. It's a disturbing image on camera so disturbing I had to send to my brother-in-law. If anyone, he would appreciate a framed selfie of my discolored, Freddy Kruger looking, jagged feeling left big toenail.
After two months my big toenail is looking less yellow. I see a toenail full of potential, one that can do anything if it works hard enough. It's only taken me 15 years to address this problem. I'm coming out now publicly in the hopes that I can be an advocate for all the embarrassed grown ups with foot fungus. My friends, it's time we take off the socks! There is hope. There is treatment. There is a man doctor who will touch your feet if you want. We don't need to end up like my father who because of foot fungus ordered laser toenail removal. It's a sad tale, really. The man lost his toenail. I will not walk in my father's shoes. That's what gave me the foot fungus.
I am no longer a victim. I am a proud member of Team Terbanifine. Who is with me?
May 17, 2013 | 2:11 pm
Posted by Elliot Steingart
I'm sorry I haven't blogged in a month. I've been super busy.
I got stung by a bee. It's been so long I didn't know bees still did that. It wasn't even sunny; it was cold and overcast. Out of nowhere this dumb bee landed on the side of my foot. As soon as I felt the pinch, I yelled, “Bee!” My girlfriend bent over and flicked the bee from my ankle into a near by bush. She pulled out the stinger with her own fingers. I read that a good way to treat the sting is to put honey on the wound. Seems like a great way to get stung again.
I visited my sister and brother-in-law, and my 16 month old niece, Dylan. It was the first time my girlfriend met everyone. Dylan projectile vomited on Brian. Ariel tried to help, but Brian was upset that she didn't help more quickly. We didn't need to order pay-per-view to see the fight of the year: Ariel Vs Brian. And what a fight it was; just a few curse words short of a custody battle. My girlfriend and I sat on the couch trying to focus on the TV. Brian first came over to us and said “I'm sorry about this.” Then Ariel came by, “I'm sorry. This is not fun for you.” I didn't understand why they were aplogizing to us. "Shouldn't you be apologizing to each other?" My girlfriend was stressed. “I hate when people fight.” I was relieved. “For once it's not us.”
I stopped myself from yelling during the Stanley Cup Playoffs while Dylan was sleeping. After Orpik's Overtime goal in game 6 advancing the Penguins to the 2nd round, I wanted to wake Dylan up, carry her around on my shoulders while slapping together two giant foam fingers. Instead I texted my friend, Goldstein.
I posted a Youtube video playing the part of a Britsh waiter while Dylan was eating. I highlighted specials such as Cornish Game Hen and Beef Bourngion. “And for dessert, our house special, a mushy banana.”
I started bench pressing 135lbs. My record is two sets of five. I feel like the strongest guy in the gym until after I'm done when I cannot peform a single push up.
I helped my friend Todd edit his Match.com profile. I told him which of his pictures I liked the best. I wasn't sure how to compliment him other than saying “That looks a lot like you.”
I accepted a Linkedin request from someone who is interested in joining my company. He sent me a message about scheduling a call. I was going to write him back but he wants a lot more money than we can probably pay him. If you are seeing this, Robert, you need to deal drugs if you want that kind of money.
I started managing my first employee. While training Paul I have spent as much time trying to make him laugh as I have introducing him to the demands of the job. To make cold calling fun, I gave Paul a Snickers and told him that we would be making a “Chocolate Call.” I told him once we both start chewing the candy bar we will hop on the phone. He asked if I was serious. He told me he did not want to do that. I told him he didn't have to.
I am trying to be the “cool boss.” I told Paul that I don't care when he gets to the office as long as it's before 8am. He told me he needs a week off this summer for his wedding. I politely said, “That's not going to work for me.” I told him about the local courthouse. “That's why you have a lunch break.”
I wasn't going to blog again for a while but my girlfriend and Todd made me feel guilty on Gchat at the same time. Those two are the only one's that noticed I stopped blogging. That's why I love the Jewish Journal. They are the only Jewish people I know not all up in my business.
April 22, 2013 | 11:10 am
Posted by Elliot Steingart
Written by my girlfriend, Liv Amend
Elliot and I decided to embark on a romantic getaway for our one year anniversary. I was actually embarrassed when I told people. Friends and family were curious “Why are you going to Long Beach?”
I didn’t want to say it was because the Hyatt in Redondo was triple the price so I justified it with “They have an aquarium there.”
That seemed to appease them, but I still felt judgment. Sadly, I judged myself when we arrived and the classy Hyatt was right next door to a Hooters and arcade/bowling alley. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I told Elliot he was in charge of negotiating with the front desk for an upgrade. I thought he would ask for a large suite or a beautiful ocean view. My boyfriend asked for a room with a bathtub.
I am a woman obsessed with plans, but my boyfriend is more the fly by the seat of your pants type. Even a year later, we “play it by ear.” I really wanted to visit the aquarium. Elliot was staunchly against the aquarium—because he said kids and strollers and crowds would be too much for him to handle. He said he wanted to go bowling or play at an arcade as if there wouldn’t be any kids or strollers there. Elliot also kept talking about ice skating which caused many pouty looks from my direction. We ended up wandering around with me in a huff for 40 minutes until we decided on beers at a nice bar with outdoor seating at Belmont Shores. The alcohol appeased my need to see sting rays and fish.
We needed to find a place to have a romantic dinner so we decided on a upscale pizza place with trays of meats and cheeses. It was a delicious meal we enjoyed as the sun set over the pier. Elliot normally doesn't like waiters, but he got along with this one, a young man who looked like a chill hipster with Ray Ban like glasses and a beard. The waiter really scored points when he suggested a margheretta pizza we both enjoyed, though he suggested we get it without cutting it to preserve the flavor. I asked him to cut the pizza. We ordered desert and toasted to one year on what seemed like a romantic evening. Little did I know what Long Beach locals had in store for me later. On the walk home I realized that I was not in Kansas anymore. Downtown Long Beach had a lot of very interesting people.
One woman started talking to me very close. “Excuse me, excuse me,” she said in a high pitched voice.
I usually smile at the homeless and nod my head, but in this moment I was so confused, I ignored her. What happened next troubled me for the rest of the night, the woman started yelling expletives in my direction.
I am used to characters, in fact the week before I had been chased by a man dressed as a pirate in Downtown LA but this woman was so aggressive. I clutched Elliot closer hoping he would protect me but he seemed unscathed. I also was wearing 4 inch heels making me approximately 5 inches taller than my boyfriend, which didn’t make me feel safe at all. Not five minutes later a young woman on a bike asked me “Miss do you have any change?”
I made sure to respond, nodding my head no with a huge smile. All of a sudden, a man on a bike swooped by and screamed “Liar.”
That was it, I had had it. Our one year celebration had to come to an end. I made my boyfriend escort me back to the hotel bar and finally to our room. The 10 o clock hour found us drifting off to Dateline NBC in the hotel room.
I had expected our one year to be candlelit, sexy and romantic. I got my rude awakening the next day when I was shuttled home early so I could help Elliot move all his stuff into a new apartment. By Sunday evening I felt like I deserved an award for being the best girlfriend in the world. The award was a frozen dinner and a toast "To our one year." It’s nice to know we will always have Long Beach.